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m_findlowTitle: The colour of fallen leaves
Fandom: The "Logan McRae" novel series by Stuart MacBride.
Characters: Logan, DI Steele
Author: m_findlow
Rating: M (language)
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: None
Author notes: Written for Challenge 194 - Falling leaves at![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomweekly
Summary: An autumnal day is spoiled by a dead body.
‘About bloody time,’ Detective Inspector Steele muttered as Logan passed her the takeaway cup with its hopefully still scolding milky tea.
‘I had to go five blocks before I found a greasy spoon open at this hour,’ he complained, digging his free hand back into its coat pocket and shivering against the cold early morning air.
‘Aye, so?’ He didn't know why he expected sympathy from her. She pulled off the lid and sipped it. ‘Bit on the sugary side,’ she commented, even though he'd done exactly as she'd asked and dumped three packets in it. ‘No matter,’ she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a crushed packet of cigarettes, lighting one up.
Logan looked across the park to where the SOCO team were still milling about, dressed in their full white coveralls, half lost in a fog that clung to the ground and swirled around them like they were partaking in a wicca ritual of some kind. ‘They’re still collecting evidence?’
Steele took a long cancer-inducing drag on the cigarette before blowing out the plume of smoke, adding to the already misty morning. ‘Lazy shites don't look to be doing anything,’ she replied. ‘Feckin hate standing out in the cold. Bloody rubbish time of year.’ Steele was not one for taking in the splendours of autumn colour, focused only on the fact that it was cold, windy and possibly about to rain, the latter of which could disrupt their crime scene. She sucked on the filter. ‘C'mon, then. Time for some real police work.’
Steele strode through the fog. A breeze kicked up that sent more leaves falling from the trees overhead, adding to the dense mulch already covering the ground. He watched her swat away two white suited men, hearing her say ‘Alright, you've had your fun, now scoot!’ before walking over to join her.
The body had been reported by an early morning dog walker, though at first glance Logan could barely see the body. Either it had been there for days, left to naturally disappear under a thick bank of autumnal debris, or someone had hastily buried it. So far only an arm and part of the face were showing through gaps in the leaf pile, uncovered by a curious canine nose.
Steel took one last drag on her cigarette before dropping it and crushing it into the sodden leaves.
‘Uh, Detective…’ Logan didn't want to have to point out to a superior that she was contaminating a crime scene.
Steele gave him a hard look before turning to stare down each member of the SOCO team. ‘You all saw me drop that, right? It's not evidence,’ she challenged them. No one said anything.
She snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves and lowered herself to her haunches with an ageing woman groan. She wasn't that old, Logan reminded himself. Late forties he guessed, but the two pack a day habit mixed with a healthy drinking regime and too many sausage butties made her look like a woman in her sixties.
‘Male. Early twenties,’ she said, brushing away the leaves to reveal the milky white body. She poked the slightly bloated stomach like a child poked a terrine of red jelly. ‘Not a fitness freak,’ she said, giving the flab one final authoritative poke. ‘Bit of bruising but no obvious signs of trauma. McCrae, get that body turned over so we can have a proper look.’
Logan hesitated. ‘DS McCrae…’ Steele repeated in a warning tone.
'SOCO are probably going to want to take a few photos now that we've cleared away the leaves,’ he said.
Steele gave a frustrated sigh. ‘Oh, alright. Get your arses over here and take your happy snaps but I want it done before I finish my tea,’ she said, drinking it down in large gulps and making them visibly scramble under her threat.
Logan reluctantly abandoned his own tea, removing hands from warm knitted gloves and exchanging them for unforgiving latex ones. Moving the body. That's what he was here for. No amount of overtime was going to drive his career forward at this rate, relegated to Steele's “Fuck Up Squad”.
He knelt over the body and took it by the shoulders, using the upper body weight as a fulcrum to turn it on its stomach. The torso twisted over and the legs slowly followed.
‘Jesus, fuck,’ Steele muttered before Logan could see for himself.
‘I think we know what killed him now,’ Logan said, spotting the gnarled tree branch protruding from the one place it shouldn't. The skin all around it was ragged and torn, and the whole area soaked in blood that he'd been lying in as it bled out from under him.
‘Poor fucking sod,’ Steele said before her voice turned hard again. ‘Rammed until his colon resembled grated pizza cheese.’ She groaned. ‘Why do I always get the fecking sodomy cases, eh? Where's DI Fat Arse when these things come through? Probably still poncing about on stage rehearsing his next pantomime. She pushed herself back up to her feet, knees clicking audibly as she stripped off the gloves. ‘Put it down as a faggot hate crime,’ she told him.
‘Inspector, I don't think we should call him a–’
Her cold eyes bored into him ‘What? A faggot? I fuck women for a hobby. If anyone's entitled to call him that, then I am. We find the sick bastard who did this and then I’ll ram a prickly tree branch so far up his arse he’ll be spitting up woodchips. You tell the Procurator Fiscal that,’ she added. ‘And remember, we are not at home–’
‘To Mister Fuck Up,’ Logan said, finishing the mantra she always gave. For all the good that might do them. ‘I know.’
‘Good.’ She looked down at her rumpled suit trousers, the bottom six inches covered in fragments of crushed dried leaves, clinging for all they were worth, swatting at them ineffectually. ‘Feckin hate this time of year,’ she reiterated.
Fandom: The "Logan McRae" novel series by Stuart MacBride.
Characters: Logan, DI Steele
Author: m_findlow
Rating: M (language)
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: None
Author notes: Written for Challenge 194 - Falling leaves at
fandomweeklySummary: An autumnal day is spoiled by a dead body.
‘About bloody time,’ Detective Inspector Steele muttered as Logan passed her the takeaway cup with its hopefully still scolding milky tea.
‘I had to go five blocks before I found a greasy spoon open at this hour,’ he complained, digging his free hand back into its coat pocket and shivering against the cold early morning air.
‘Aye, so?’ He didn't know why he expected sympathy from her. She pulled off the lid and sipped it. ‘Bit on the sugary side,’ she commented, even though he'd done exactly as she'd asked and dumped three packets in it. ‘No matter,’ she said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a crushed packet of cigarettes, lighting one up.
Logan looked across the park to where the SOCO team were still milling about, dressed in their full white coveralls, half lost in a fog that clung to the ground and swirled around them like they were partaking in a wicca ritual of some kind. ‘They’re still collecting evidence?’
Steele took a long cancer-inducing drag on the cigarette before blowing out the plume of smoke, adding to the already misty morning. ‘Lazy shites don't look to be doing anything,’ she replied. ‘Feckin hate standing out in the cold. Bloody rubbish time of year.’ Steele was not one for taking in the splendours of autumn colour, focused only on the fact that it was cold, windy and possibly about to rain, the latter of which could disrupt their crime scene. She sucked on the filter. ‘C'mon, then. Time for some real police work.’
Steele strode through the fog. A breeze kicked up that sent more leaves falling from the trees overhead, adding to the dense mulch already covering the ground. He watched her swat away two white suited men, hearing her say ‘Alright, you've had your fun, now scoot!’ before walking over to join her.
The body had been reported by an early morning dog walker, though at first glance Logan could barely see the body. Either it had been there for days, left to naturally disappear under a thick bank of autumnal debris, or someone had hastily buried it. So far only an arm and part of the face were showing through gaps in the leaf pile, uncovered by a curious canine nose.
Steel took one last drag on her cigarette before dropping it and crushing it into the sodden leaves.
‘Uh, Detective…’ Logan didn't want to have to point out to a superior that she was contaminating a crime scene.
Steele gave him a hard look before turning to stare down each member of the SOCO team. ‘You all saw me drop that, right? It's not evidence,’ she challenged them. No one said anything.
She snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves and lowered herself to her haunches with an ageing woman groan. She wasn't that old, Logan reminded himself. Late forties he guessed, but the two pack a day habit mixed with a healthy drinking regime and too many sausage butties made her look like a woman in her sixties.
‘Male. Early twenties,’ she said, brushing away the leaves to reveal the milky white body. She poked the slightly bloated stomach like a child poked a terrine of red jelly. ‘Not a fitness freak,’ she said, giving the flab one final authoritative poke. ‘Bit of bruising but no obvious signs of trauma. McCrae, get that body turned over so we can have a proper look.’
Logan hesitated. ‘DS McCrae…’ Steele repeated in a warning tone.
'SOCO are probably going to want to take a few photos now that we've cleared away the leaves,’ he said.
Steele gave a frustrated sigh. ‘Oh, alright. Get your arses over here and take your happy snaps but I want it done before I finish my tea,’ she said, drinking it down in large gulps and making them visibly scramble under her threat.
Logan reluctantly abandoned his own tea, removing hands from warm knitted gloves and exchanging them for unforgiving latex ones. Moving the body. That's what he was here for. No amount of overtime was going to drive his career forward at this rate, relegated to Steele's “Fuck Up Squad”.
He knelt over the body and took it by the shoulders, using the upper body weight as a fulcrum to turn it on its stomach. The torso twisted over and the legs slowly followed.
‘Jesus, fuck,’ Steele muttered before Logan could see for himself.
‘I think we know what killed him now,’ Logan said, spotting the gnarled tree branch protruding from the one place it shouldn't. The skin all around it was ragged and torn, and the whole area soaked in blood that he'd been lying in as it bled out from under him.
‘Poor fucking sod,’ Steele said before her voice turned hard again. ‘Rammed until his colon resembled grated pizza cheese.’ She groaned. ‘Why do I always get the fecking sodomy cases, eh? Where's DI Fat Arse when these things come through? Probably still poncing about on stage rehearsing his next pantomime. She pushed herself back up to her feet, knees clicking audibly as she stripped off the gloves. ‘Put it down as a faggot hate crime,’ she told him.
‘Inspector, I don't think we should call him a–’
Her cold eyes bored into him ‘What? A faggot? I fuck women for a hobby. If anyone's entitled to call him that, then I am. We find the sick bastard who did this and then I’ll ram a prickly tree branch so far up his arse he’ll be spitting up woodchips. You tell the Procurator Fiscal that,’ she added. ‘And remember, we are not at home–’
‘To Mister Fuck Up,’ Logan said, finishing the mantra she always gave. For all the good that might do them. ‘I know.’
‘Good.’ She looked down at her rumpled suit trousers, the bottom six inches covered in fragments of crushed dried leaves, clinging for all they were worth, swatting at them ineffectually. ‘Feckin hate this time of year,’ she reiterated.
